Levana was beginning to wonder how much damage just one little moment of silence could do … when she heard her sister’s heels clapping across the meeting room’s floor.
Turning, she saw that Channary was attempting to hide just how horrible a coughing attack it had been, storming back with a stick-straight spine and blazing eyes, her brown hair swinging against her shoulders. But her face was blotchy and a thin layer of sweat still clung to her upper lip.
She took the baby out of Levana’s arms without preempt, without even a thank-you.
“Are you all right?” asked Levana. “You’re not dying, are you?”
Shooting a glare at her, Channary turned away without taking even a moment to admire the view. As she paced back into the room, the child’s crying began to subside, her pudgy fingers pawing at her mother’s face.
It occurred to Levana that maybe babies weren’t affected by glamours, and they all hated her because they could see what she was underneath.
“You’ve had that cough for a long time. Maybe you should see Dr. Eliot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the queen,” Channary said, as if this alone would protect her from illness. “Though, speaking of doctors, have you heard about that couple in bioengineering?” She grabbed a bottle from a satchel and fit it into the child’s mouth. Levana was amazed every time she witnessed this motherly affection from her sister—a girl she had only ever known as cruel and selfish. Surely their mother never fed them. She wondered what possessed Channary to do it, when they had so many servants on hand.
“What doctors?”
“The ones that had the baby. Darnel, I think … the man is … heavens. Ancient. Sixty, maybe?”
Levana clenched her teeth. “I had heard they were expecting, yes.”
“Well—they are finished expecting. The baby was a shell.”
Eyes widening, Levana clasped a hand over her mouth. Pretending horror, but mostly to hide the bout of glee that threatened to spill out. “A shell?”
“Mm. A girl, I think. That thaumaturge went to collect her yesterday, for…” Channary sighed, like it was too exhausting to remember all these pesky details. “Whatever those scientists are using the shells for.”
“Blood platelets. For an antidote to the disease.”
“Yes, that’s right. How can you remember all this?”
Frowning, Levana glanced down at the baby, who was now in a satiated stupor as she sucked on the bottle’s nipple. She turned back to the view of Earth, of the lake, of all the happy couples.
“A shell,” she murmured. “How embarrassing.”
“I’ve noticed that you’re not getting any larger,” said Channary, pacing out to join her on the balcony. “Unless your glamour is hiding it from us.”
Setting her jaw, Levana didn’t respond.
“Tell me, how is wedded bliss these days? It’s been a while since I heard you wax on and on about how much you love your husband. I rather miss those days.”
“We are fine, thank you,” said Levana. Quickly realizing how very un-fine that sounded, she added, “I still love him very much. We’re quite happy together.”
Snorting, Channary leaned back against the rail. “Lies, lies. Though I can never tell whether you’re lying to me or to yourself.”
“I am not lying. He is everything I have ever wanted.”
“How quaint. I really thought you would have set your sights a little … higher.”
Channary’s attention drifted upward, to the blue-and-white orb hanging in the sky.
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking more about Earthen politics, lately. Rather against my will, I admit. It’s impossible not to when all the families go on and on about this biological warfare they’re planning. It’s exhausting.”
“You are a model of patience,” Levana deadpanned.
“Well, I’ve been seeing pictures of the royal family from the Eastern Commonwealth and … I’m rather intrigued.” She tried to take the child’s bottle away, but baby Selene whimpered and reached for it, pulling it back into her mouth.
“The royal family? Isn’t the prince only a child?”
“A toddler, yes.” Channary bent over her daughter, nestling the tufts of hair with her nose. “At first I thought, why, he might be a perfect little match for my perfect little girl.” She lifted her gaze again. “But then I thought—why, I suppose I could marry too. And the emperor is quite handsome. Broad-shouldered. Always smartly dressed, though a little bland—Earthens, you know.”
“Unfortunately, I do believe he is already married.”
Channary snorted, and baby Selene finally released the bottle, finished. “Always the pessimist, baby sister. Perhaps he won’t always be married.” Shrugging, she lifted the baby over her shoulder to burp her, even though she had nothing to protect her fine gown. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’m certainly not planning any assassination attempts yet, but … well. I’ve heard Earth is nice this time of year.”
“I think it is nice every time of year, depending on the hemisphere.”
Channary quirked an eyebrow. “What is a hemisphere?”
Sighing, Levana shook her head. “Never mind. That baby is going to spit up all over your dress, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sick of this one. I’m sick of all of them, actually. Nothing in my whole wardrobe fits anymore, and I know it will just get worse if I end up pregnant again. It will be a full-time job for my seamstress. I’ve been thinking I might have her feet removed, so that she has nothing better to do.” Her eyes sparkled, like it was a joke.
But Levana had seen that sparkle before. She was not so sure that Channary was joking.
*
Queen Channary Blackburn of Luna did not have a chance to see to an assassination on the Earthen empress. She did not marry Emperor Rikan or see her child grow up to marry a prince.
Five months after their conversation, she did indeed have her seamstress’s feet surgically removed, and the seamstress had not even recovered enough to get back to work before it was all for naught.
At the age of twenty-five, Queen Channary died from regolith poisoning in her lungs.
It was a disease that commonly afflicted those in the outer sectors, due to a lifetime spent breathing in the dust from Luna’s caverns, but it was so unheard of among the aristocrats—and certainly among the royal family—that doctors had never even considered it a possibility, even when Channary broke down and talked to Dr. Eliot about her persistent cough.
The mystery was never solved, but Levana had a theory that her sister had been sneaking away to the regolith caves under the city for some of her romantic rendezvous.
The funeral was similar to that of their parents, and Levana’s feelings were rather the same.
Princess Winter and Princess Selene attended, dressed in royal garb as befit their stature. Selene, now one year old, received kisses from a lot of strangers, but between the two, it was Winter who received the most compliments. She was indeed a very pretty child, and Evret was right—she was taking more after her mother every day.
Evret offered to work, guarding the queen’s casket as it was carried through the streets on its way to be buried in a crater outside of the domes. Levana asked him not to. She’d hoped he would agree to stand by her side. To be her husband. But it didn’t work. To him, duty came first.
The little boy who belonged to Sir Clay was there too, almost four years old now and pale blond as ever. He tried to teach the wobbly-footed girls how to play hide-and-seek among the pews, but they were still too young to understand.
Levana pretended to cry. She was assigned the role of queen regent until her niece’s thirteenth birthday, at which time Selene would take her throne.
Twelve years.
Levana would be queen for twelve years.
She tried very, very hard not to smile until the funeral was over.